


Love writes a letter and sends it to Hate...

by AlexisJane



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 17:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexisJane/pseuds/AlexisJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam lets Dean know he's on his way home.</p>
<p>I had this lovely song, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7xUZkKd58c">The Ballad of Love and Hate</a> by The Avett Brothers practically on repeat for a week and it was making all kinds of lovely narrativeness in my brain. So, some of the words belong to them as does the sentiment although I'm sure they didn't have Wincest on their minds when they made it!</p>
<p>I don't know whether you should listen to the song before or after the fic but listen to it you must...x</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love writes a letter and sends it to Hate...

  
Love writes a letter and sends it to hate.  
  
Sam threw the last bits of stuff from the motel drawer into his duffel and dropped down on to the bed next to it.   
He sighed and pulled his cell out of his back pocket.   
  
He wasn't sure why he'd been putting off calling Dean, they should be able to be get past this, be grown up about the whole thing but his reluctant finger hovered over Dean's name on the contact list as scowled at the screen.   
  
Yeah, texting was probably better.   
Definitely better.   
He was probably busy.   
Didn't want to interrupt him.  
  
Sam knew he was a chickenshit but the thought of facing a conversation like the last one they'd had wasn't something he wanted to have to think about on the journey home. Not when, despite how they had left things, he was so looking forward to seeing Dean again.  
  
It had only been two weeks but that was fourteen days too long for both of them.   
Dean hadn't wanted to go which was understandable.   
Getting him to California under most circumstances would have been a stretch but within five miles of Stanford, there was no way.  
   
So when Garth had called with an emergency, some kind of shifter that had taken a liking to college girls, Sam didn't know why he even bothered asking Dean.   
The look on his face had been a categorical, no.   
And besides they were working their own case. The mysterious deaths weren't just going to solve themselves.   
And even if there weren't the slimmest chance that it was zombies (It was not zombies but try telling Dean that) Dean really had a bee in his bonnet about this one and he wouldn't have left it with the body count racking up.  
  
He hadn't exactly tried to stop Sam from leaving but he'd bitched about every other damn thing until he'd dropped him at the airport.   
When they pulled up Sam had thought he was just being weird and twitchy having to be near the terminal, hearing the sound of the planes taking off and landing, until Dean had said goodbye.   
Normally, he was pretty discrete but he'd practically launched himself at Sam, pinning him up against the side of the Impala, pressing the length of his body against his, his open mouth on him kissing him deep and full, both hands holding his neck and hard in his hair. He hadn't waited and sped off before Sam had even picked his bag off the floor.   
  
As he watched Dean go, Sam realised that the thought of watching him walk away, heading for Stanford again was probably too much to ask.   
  
It might not have been such a big deal if it had been the couple of days that they had anticipated not the two weeks it turned into.  
  
Gradually the daily phone calls had become more like interrogations.   
  
At first, it was just Dean checking in, asking about the case, asking for intel on his own but as time passed he got preoccupied with where Sam had been that day, if that was where he used to drink coffee when he was a college boy, didn't he live near there in his second year, any mention of familiarity with the place some kind of betrayal.   
Eventually, Sam just felt like he was having to sit and describe his every movement while he imagined Dean plotted it his route on a big map back in Nebraska. Garth would sit and shake his head while Sam rattled off his itinerary, knowing better than to interfere with the Winchester dynamic.   
But Sam just smiled sheepishly at him and went with it.   
He could hear the pain and fear deep in Dean voice.   
This was so hard for him, Sam couldn't conceive of the painful memories it was bringing up for Dean, so he just wanted him to do whatever he needed to get through it.   
  
Which is why he couldn't understand why in the hell he had told him he had bumped into an old college buddy.   
And worse still, he hadn't said, old college buddy. He said Phil.   
And Dean knew exactly who Phil was.   
  
It had only been a one-night stand, well, one or two…maybe five.   
There had been a couple of occasions when Dean had expressed his undying gratitude to Phil for showing him that thing that Sam does with his tongue that he likes so much. Which just made it even more idiotic when his name just slipped out.   
He tried to backtrack 'Did I say Phil? No, it was a different Phil.' But it was too late. He braced himself for a screaming match or the dead air of a hang up. The sound of Dean's struggling to control his breathing in the silence was worse.  
  
The screaming came later.  
  
 At first Sam had tried to reassure, then argue but had ended up just listening to Dean call him every kind of whore under the sun and a few really creative things that would have made a docker blush.   
In the end all he could do was tell him blankly that he loved him, nothing had happened and he would be home in a few days. Dean hung up and they hadn't spoken since.  
So now, with the plane boarding in a couple of hours, he just wanted to pretend that everything was going to be okay when he got home.   
He re-read the text  
"Garth and I are done. Catching the flight tonight. Should land about 2am. I can't wait to see you again", and pressed 'send' before he could change his mind.  
  
  
Dean heard his cell vibrate on the nightstand and reached for it with the arm covering his eyes.   
He held it above him and read the message.   
Even though he was alone he bit back the tears swelling up at the words and let the phone drop down onto the bed beside him, whispering "Whatever" into the empty room. He felt sick.   
  
And tired.   
The case had been a head fuck since he'd found that his great eyewitness turned out to actually be mad and not just misunderstood. So definitely not zombies.   
  
Plus, every time he closed his eyes all he could see was Sammy in the arms of another man, his mouth on them, their fingers inside him, his head falling back and him crying out in ecstasy under them. He would have gouged his eyes out if he thought it would do any good.   
  
He ran his hands hard down his face and then back up into his hair and took a breath. He wanted to be excited to see Sam and he was but any goodness in it was coated by a thick, nagging feeling that maybe he was only coming back to say goodbye for good this time.   
  
And so what if he was.   
  
He'd gotten on just fine the four years Sam had been away before and he'd just been fine and dandy the two of those that Sam was completely absent.   
He hadn't died without him.   
He had still hunted and lived his life. Maybe it would be better if Sammy wasn't there.   
This thing between them couldn't be healthy. It gave them a weakness.   
Sam was his and he was Sam's. It would probably be for the best if they weren't together any more.   
In any sense of the word.   
The agony of the thought ripped through his mind and stabbed at his chest.   
  
He pursed his lips and ran the flat of his hand briefly over his eyes, smearing the hint of tears away, then sat up and pushed himself off the bed in one motion. Without stopping he snatched up his jacket from the back of the chair and headed out the door, slamming it shut so hard behind him the whole room seemed to shudder.  
  
  
The flight didn't take that long but trying to squish his long legs into an economy space was a bit of a challenge.   
He couldn't for the life of him think why he didn't ask for an aisle seat. Luckily the space next to him was empty so he could stretch out a little that way.   
He just wished the one occupied by the skinny guy smelling equally of tequila and peanuts was vacant too. It was actually nice to be able to look out of the window, even though it was night.   
There was no cloud cover and the full moonlight was making the earth below an eerie silver blue. Passing over a body of water, he could see the moon's reflection, bulbous and white in the blue-black glass surface.   
As he leaned closer to the window to get a better look, he realised he was humming.   
It took him a moment to register what it was.   
Metallica. It calms me down.   
The memory was sweet with a hint of anxiety being that he was back on a plane but it made him smile and wish the plane could go a little faster.  
  
  
Dean parked the Impala in the convenience store parking lot and started to wander across, blue label on his mind but knowing there was only red label money in his wallet, not paying attention to the group of homeless men gathered in the corner of the lot until one of them called out and started to shuffle towards him.   
He slowed and turned, although he really didn't want to do that right now and greeted the man's outstretched hand with his own.   
Soon, he was shaking hands with them all, answering their questions best he could and reassuring them with the earnest assertion that the bureau were doing everything in their power to find out who had taken their friends.   
  
He felt so guilty being there, with these poor broken men, the only thing they had in the world, the makeshift family they had formed, being taken from them in the most brutal way and all he could think about was Sam.   
He did his best to do what Sam would have done, to be comforting and kind but as he walked away from them and into the glaring white light of the store, he wasn't sure it was enough.   
He clumsily handed them a six-pack on the way back to the Impala brushing away the thanks and the doubt as best he could with a wave of his hand.    
  
  
Sam walked out of the terminal, the chill in the air taking him somewhat by surprise.   
  
It hadn't been a shock to not see Dean at the gate or to be greeted inside the airport but the feverish anticipation that had been thrumming through him since the 'Fasten Your Seatbelt' sign had come on, plummeted painfully as he searched the pick up area for the Black Chevy shape. After a couple of minutes of craning his neck, looking left and right like the worlds tallest meercat, he walked back and found a spare bit of bench, let his duffel drop to the ground beside it and took a seat. He could wait.   
He would wait.   
He was used to waiting. And so far waiting hadn't failed him.   
Not yet.  
  
  
Dean sat on the hood of the car, leant back against the windshield and looked at the sky.   
He'd driven, well, he wasn't sure how far. Just far enough that the glow of the city had faded and the stars shone bright above him.   
The night was deafening, the breeze rustling the leaves on the trees and fanning the long grass at the side of the field, sounding almost like water with it's soft schoosh-schoosh. Animals bustled and squawked and the ground was alive with bugs and things that sang their night song, constant and low.   
  
Dean brought the bottle up and was surprised at how far back he had to tip his head before the stinging liquid hit his lips.   
He wasn't sure which was scarier, the fact that he'd drunk nearly a whole bottle of whiskey or the fact that he didn't give two shits that he had drunk a whole bottle of whiskey.   
And that his baby brother would have landed by now and that he would be wondering why he wasn't there to collect him. And that he didn't give two shits about that either. Nope, he couldn't care less about that despite what the pain in his chest felt like.   
Because they could never go back to the way it was before.   
Because Sammy had ruined everything.   
But he didn't give a shit about that. Not now.   
He closed his eyes tight against the glare of the moon and raised the bottle again, draining the final drops and forcing a single tear to roll out and down to his jawline, undetected in the numbingly cold night air.  
  
  
The cab ride back to the motel started off okay. Sam had gotten cold and grumpy and then seriously pissed off before he realised Dean just wasn't coming.   
The kid that was driving had been chatty but not annoying. He seemed quite nice really until Sam realised his mistake.   
He'd been too angry to really think about what he was saying.   
He didn't mean to bitch about Dean to a complete stranger but the guy had a bit of a bartender/therapist thing going on so he'd just started talking.   
But he definitely didn't mean to say 'boyfriend' when he meant to say 'brother'.   
It wasn't until the last few miles that Sam realised that the guy was hitting on him, hoping for a bit of rebound action maybe. Sam had enough to deal with already but managed to stay polite enough that he didn't get dumped in the middle of nowhere.   
When they reached the motel, the driver had made a point of giving Sam his number, just in case he needed another ride that night if things didn't work out. Sam made a point of not tipping him.  
  
  
The Impala grumbled into the space in front of the motel room, comedy slow.   
Dean still managed to overshoot the spot and scraped the wheel along the curb, the horrific metallic shriek bounced around the confines of the structure, amplified just to the perfect volume to at least make even the heaviest sleepers stir.   
The drive back hadn't been quite as much fun as the drive out. I  
t had been a long while since Dean had driven that drunk and now he remembered why. It wasn't worth it.   
Damaging himself was one thing but risking Baby. No, never again.   
  
He stumbled a little getting out of the car and had to brace himself against the hood when he bent to inspect the scrape across the hubcap. He muttered and cursed himself and his stupidity and Johnny Walker and although his mind went to curse Sam, his mouth wouldn't allow it.   
  
He fumbled for the key at the motel door, checking every pocket until he found it way down in the back pocket of his jeans. As his fingers sought to untangle them from a loose thread that had tangled in the key fob, he was surprised to see the time on the clock in the kitchenette throughout he open curtains.   
How could it have gotten so late?   
There were only a few hours til daybreak.   
  
He needed to sleep.   
Needed to be unconscious when tomorrow came around. He'd barely been able to face today.   
And more importantly he needed to be unconscious when Sam got there because facing him was going to be a whole new level of hurt.  
  
  
  
The sound of the keys in the door, well, of someone trying to put the keys in the door, made Sam's heart leap in his chest and not from his usual hunters hyper vigilance.   
He knew it was Dean.   
He felt utterly relieved and terrified.   
  
When he'd first got back to the room, his fury had been foremost in his mind and he'd been up for a fight, physical or otherwise, anything to clear the air and put this whole thing behind them.   
But after sitting alone listening to his own heartbeat and the voices in his head for 30 minutes, he suddenly realised that Dean might actually be in trouble, be hurt somewhere, might need him.   
So he'd swallowed his pride and called Dean's cell.   
Which went straight to the answer phone.   
As did his other number.   
And his other, other number.   
Which is when he started to panic.   
  
He was deciding whether to call Bobby or Garth first, when he heard the car pull up outside. He had no idea what to expect when the door opened.   
He felt frozen to the chair. Not knowing quite what to do or say, just praying that he would when Dean could finally work the lock.  
  
When Dean did finally managed to get the door open, he rather overcooked it and it swung inwards slightly more quickly than he would of liked, making him stumble forwards into the room. He tutted his own clumsiness and shut the door firmly and leant back up against it.   
As he rested his head back and took a breath, he was suddenly aware that the lights were on.   
And there was a duffel on the far bed.   
And Sam was sitting in the chair by the table, looking tired and startled, clutching his phone in his hand and looking at him with those big, wet, beautiful eyes.   
  
There was something in his face, his sweetness maybe, or his kindness. It hurt Dean to look at him because he knew now all the terrible things he had said down the phone to him, he could never say to that face.   
He was a jealous, insecure idiot and god knows how he could ever make it up to him or whether Sam could ever forgive him.   
  
All he could say was "Sam" before the remorse took him over and he tore his eyes away, hanging his head and whispered "I'm sorry"   
  
  
  
Dean's voice was broken and pitiful, diluting all the fight and fury in Sam and he swallowed   
  
"What for?"   
  
He was surprised that his voice sounded as rasping and hurt as Dean's.   
He stood slowly and sighed, his whole body dropping with the force of it and said as matter-of-factly as he could,   
  
"I'm yours and that's it. Whatever"   
  
Dean's breath caught in his chest as Sam slowly walked towards him saying "I shouldn't have been gone for so long. I'm yours and that's it. Forever"  
  
When he reached him, their bodies as close as they could be with out touching, Sam reached out and took Dean's wet cheeks in his hands, pushing his head back, and looked steady and true into the swimming green of his eyes, his words coming naturally as breathing, "You're mine and that's it…"   
  
He brought their mouths together and they kissed long and hard and deep with forgiveness. And that was it.  
  
Then only decipherable word spoken by either of them until the sunlight hit their naked, sweat hot, tangled bodies, hours later was the only thing they really ever needed from each other.  
  
Forever.


End file.
